


Making a Legend

by CatMoran (akaCat)



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-06-24
Updated: 2001-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:23:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaCat/pseuds/CatMoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene the morning after the party at Bucky's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a Legend

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Bas for encouragement and suggestions.

It's a cold, clear morning out on the prairie and I'm the only one awake. Except for the dog--and he probably didn't drop any acid last night, either.

It's a good time to be doing this. I've had plenty of time to think about it. I'm clear-headed, if you don't count a good old whiskey hangover, and all the good little goat's-blood-drinking freaks are sleeping like dead babies. They're all so messed up, they'll never notice that I was messing around in Joe's stuff.

I don't hate him. I hate stuff that he's done, but I don't hate him. I just have to make sure I won't be seeing him again. Because sometimes I can go for hours or days without thinking about the shit he pulled on me, but it just doesn't work when he's around.

Anyway, he'll thank me for this. As long as I've known him, the only thing that asshole's wanted is attention.

The day I met him his angle was busting out car windows; he hasn't learned dick about being subtle in the twenty years since.

But he has learned something about art since then. And I'm not talking about this Bucky Haight scam. It didn't suck and it got him some cash, but hell, I saw through it the first time I got a call about the benefit. He's done better. *Way* better.

The time he pissed away our big-league record deal, *that*'s his best. So far, anyway. In less than 2 minutes time, he got the attention of all the music execs, and the band was so fucking pissed even John was ready to flatten him. Every wanna-be punker who heard about it worshipped the ground he pissed on, and every real punker *did* hear about it and thought he was some crazy shit. And just to make it perfect, it made sure that he would never, *ever* end up a faceless voice in a sound studio. I didn't say it was *good* attention he got from the execs.

Of course, he's pulled a lot of stupid stunts, too. Most of it was little shit, the kind of shit a guy does when he's too drunk or stoned to know that his jokes stink. But he's a pretty creative guy, so he's come up with a few amazingly stupid things, too.

I like to think that his biggest failure was the time he fucked me over. Fucked *me*. Over.

I love the asshole. 20 years and I never pulled my dick out for company without him there. I never wanted to. One woman or two, he was *there*. When it was just the two of us screwing around, I never hesitated to go down on him. So one time, just *one*, he's passed out in the van and I make it with Mary. She's cute, and kind of sweet, and anyway I saw him leave with her earlier. So it's sort of like he was there, if you figure in a little time travel.

Maybe he really was pissed, but I think he just used the whole 'Mary' thing to get what he wanted--my ass. I mean, Joe's never been straight in his life and I couldn't see him starting now. Pun intended.

We didn't do shit together after I did Mary. No fights, no arguing, no fucking around. Just the music. But he's drinking more, and throwing away all his money and some of the band's money on drugs, and not playing for crap. Finally John decides to go all 'encounter group' on him, and Joe turns around and pops *me* one right in the face. I was just unloading the gear, and he hits me. *Pow*! Just like that.

So we sort of fuck around with our fists until we looked good and messed up, and I still don't know what the fuck we're fighting about, and suddenly Joe just stopped and stared at me. And out of nowhere, I decided that I hated that glazed look he had. His bags were right there in the back of the van, so I grabbed his stash and took off into the club with it. By the time he caught up with me, I flushed it down the can--that was $150 I sent into the sewer system, easy.

That might've been a mistake. Probably not. I think Joe was just waiting for that night to happen, who the hell knows? He got real quiet, made like we needed to get to the room and talk about things. So we left the other guys to finish unloading and setting up, and grabbed a taxi to the hotel.

That was a long setup, but he was ready for the payoff: when we got to the room, he told me that I'd fucked him weeks ago with Mary, and just now with the drugs. And if I let him fuck me, things'd be cool between us again.

Well hands are cool, and blow jobs are great, but I'd never let him have my ass and I wasn't planning to change that. I tackled him, and we both went down swinging. On the way to the floor, I smacked my head on something, musta been the dresser. I didn't notice for a few minutes, and I had him in a good headlock by the time I started to gray out.

When things finally cleared up some, I was on one bed, ass up, with just a sheet over me. Joe was on the other bed with a bottle in his hand and a smug look on his face. At least he had the decency to loose the look when I threw up all over my bed. That damn concussion cost us both nights of the gig, but it did give me an excuse not to sit for a couple of days.

So, Joe got my ass. But he lost me. I ignored him the rest of the tour, even swapped rooms with Pipe. And when Joe screwed up the record deal, that gave me a chance to walk out without the guys figuring out what happened.

And that's pretty much the best and the worst of Joe's scams.

But he's got this one little joke that's got the makings of a classic. Whenever he figures he's got a fresh, appreciative audience he pulls it out--literally. He puts a gun to his head--sometimes he's dramatic about it, sometimes he's real matter-of-fact--pull the trigger *BANG* and he drops to the ground. Then soon's everyone notices there's no blood, they kick his ass into the next province. He loves it. Little shit, really. But I really think it's got the makings of his best scam ever.

It's a nice gun. Not just a cap pistol, like you might think. It's a good, heavy revolver that he swiped from his dad years ago. He just uses a little wax to stick a cap to the hammer, and he's set for his next performance.

Just like I remembered, it's a .357. I'll leave him one chamber empty, just for luck.

He'll get all the attention he wants. Hell, I'm making him a legend.

He'd thank me for this.

Fin


End file.
